With growing uneasiness I approached the hour when, after nearly a year’s complete silence, I was again to receive letters from home, and I wondered whether I should break them open and read them without any cause for sorrow. The post met me at Gaura on September 9. I read all the evening, all night, and all the following day, and I was able to take the last days’ journey to Simla in comfort, for I was spared any untoward news and knew that all was well at home. Now the wind whispered more gently than ever in the Himalayan cedars, and the roar of the Sutlej sounded like the roll of drums in a triumphal march.
In Kotgar I was present at evensong in the missionaries’ church. How strange to hear again the soft soothing tones of the organ, and as an unworthy Christian pilgrim in a Christian temple remember the solitude of the past years.
The following day I marched along the road in the company of my men for the last time, for near Narkanda a rickshaw met me, sent by Colonel Dunlop Smith. I left them, to hurry on without delay, while they were to follow in the usual order of march. How pleasant to lean against the back of the little two-wheeled vehicle and roll away at a rapid pace under the shady canopy of the deodars!
September 15 was a great day for me. I stayed at the bungalow of Fagu, and this camp, where I was quite alone, was No. 499. Simla, therefore, would be 500. It felt very strange to stand on the boundary between the wilderness and the most refined civilization. At the breastwork of the excellent carriage-road sat a gentleman in his rickshaw; it was my friend Mr. Edward Buck, Reuter’s correspondent. This is the beginning, I thought; and on I went on this last day’s journey. The fine imposing town appears in the distance on the slopes of its hills and the white houses peep out from among the trees (Illust. 387). A young maiden takes a snap of us with her camera, but it is early in the morning, and without further adventures we take refuge at a gentleman’s outfitters, for in spite of the clothes from Poo I must undergo a complete renovation before I can present myself before the doors of the Viceregal Lodge.
What a total contrast to the lonely life I had led for two long years! On September 16 a State ball took place, and I heard again the crunching sound on the sand of the court as innumerable rickshaws bore guests to the ball. Rustling silk, glittering jewels, brilliant uniforms—in an unbroken line the élite of Simla pass between satellites with their tall turbans and shining lances. God save the King! Followed by their staff Their Excellencies enter, and open the dance to the notes of a waltz of Strauss. It was just as in May 1906, and the twenty-eight months that had intervened seemed to me like a strange fantastic dream.
The first days I stayed in the house of my noble old friend Colonel Dunlop Smith, and had now an opportunity of thanking him and his amiable ladies for the trouble they had taken in connection with the consignment to Gartok the year before. Then I moved over to the Viceregal Lodge, and again enjoyed the same boundless hospitality of Lord and Lady Minto. From my window I saw again, sharp and clear, the crests of the Himalayas, and beyond the mountains and valleys of Tibet stretched out in a boundless sea. What wealth and luxury! I lived like a prince, walked on soft rugs and meditated, lay and read Swedish journals in a deep soft bed, by electric light, and bathed in a porcelain bath, attended by Hindus in the viceregal livery—I who had lately gone in rags and tended sheep.
| 388. The Last Members of the Expedition at the Entrance of the Viceregal Lodge in Simla. |
On September 24 a hundred and fifty ladies and gentlemen in full dress were assembled in the State room in the Viceregal Lodge. The occasion was a lecture, and on the dais hung with gold-embroidered brocade, where the thrones usually stand, was set up a large map of Tibet. The front seats were occupied by the Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army, Lord Kitchener of Khartum, the Governor of the Panjab, the Maharajas of Alwar and Gwalior; and among the guests might be seen generals and superior officers, State secretaries, men of science, and members of the diplomatic corps then present in Simla. The Military Secretary, Colonel Victor Brooke, came forward and announced the arrival of the Viceroy and Lady Minto. I was trembling with stage fright, but before I knew anything about it, my opening words, “Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen,” sounded through the brilliant saloon, and then followed an account of my last journey. It was one o’clock in the morning before I concluded, and after a most flattering speech from Lord Minto the guests withdrew to the late supper.
My six Ladakis and our seven remaining animals stayed in a serai below the palace. I often went and talked to them, and played a while with my old travelling companion Little Puppy. But the time passed quickly, and soon the last day came. I embraced and squeezed Little Puppy, stroked his head, and found it hard to tear myself away. He was put out by his master’s elegant costume, and had a melancholy questioning expression, as though he suspected that the bond between us was loosed, and that we should never see each other again. We had shared everything in common from the time he was born below the snowy Karakorum pass, and to part from dogs is the hardest trial of all; to bid men farewell is not so distressing.
At our arrival in Simla I had given them 60 rupees each for new clothing, and in the bazaar they had found some old cast-off uniforms with bright metal buttons, which they thought grand and becoming. On the neck lappets were the words “Guard, London S.W. Railway,” and how they found their way to India I do not know. But in these uniforms and in red fezzes my men assembled in the palace court on the last day of September (Illust. 388). They were allowed to keep our seven horses and mules, saddles, tents, skin coats, bed furniture, and everything. My white horse they were to sell in Leh and divide the price. Gulam took charge of Little Puppy, and undertook to see that he did not suffer want in the future—it was like breaking up an old home. Besides his pay, every man received a present of 100 rupees, and their expenses to Leh four times over. Lord and Lady Minto were present at the last farewell, and the Viceroy made them a short, cheery speech. It was a sad parting, and even the calm Lobsang, who was amazed at the wealth and splendour of Simla, wept like a child as with heavy step he followed his comrades down to their waiting animals. “What faithfulness! what devotion!” exclaimed Lady Minto with feeling; “their tears are more expressive than words.”